


Outlet

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Carl makes Markus go shopping.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 125





	Outlet

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They picked a relatively slow day to shop, and Carl was clever to suggest they go during school hours—there are no screaming children clouding up the food court. The tables are mostly empty, so Markus has his pick—he selects the cleanest one closest to the exit, just in case they should have to evacuate the mall. This particular mall has never had a recorded crisis, but Markus needs to use _some_ criteria to make his decision. He moves the plastic chair aside and wheels Carl right up to the edge, where he sets down the sushi and smoothie that they’ve ordered, both well within Carl’s diet. Carl breaks his biodegradable chopsticks apart, but he doesn’t eat yet.

Just when Markus has taken his seat across the table, Carl tells him, “You should go and enjoy yourself, Markus. There’s no sense sitting there, just watching me shovel food down.”

Markus tucks their shopping fabric bag under the table, next to Carl’s feet, and reminds him, “I have nothing else to do.”

Carl waves the chopsticks dismissively, like there are hundreds of things for an indentured android to get up to in a quiet mall. “Go shopping. See what catches your eye. Watch that infernal war movie that’s always playing across from the perfume stand.”

Most of the time, Markus tries to do what Carl asks—excluding, of course, the times where Carl’s orders contract his primary programming: _take care of Carl._ But this is an area where Markus simply doesn’t know _how_ to obey. He doesn’t mean to be difficult, but he points out, “There’s nothing I need to buy.”

Carl opens his mouth to respond, but Markus preemptively corrects, “There’s nothing I _want_ to buy.”

Carl is a stubborn man. Undeterred, he insists, “Go look at clothes. You have to wear something.”

Markus would surrender to that logic, except that he already has enough clothes to sustain him between wash cycles. Purely to make Carl happy, he glances across the way, scanning the stores directly open to the food court—he wouldn’t go any further. He needs to be within shouting distance of Carl. Nothing catches his eye, until he spots a blond android fitting a short red dress on a headless mannequin. 

He doesn’t mean to stare, but he knows he has when Carl prods, “There you go. It looks like they have some nice suits—why don’t you pick one up for my next function?”

Markus watches the man bend over to straighten out the skirt, legs stiff but back arching down, fingers busy across the fussy hem. Finally, Markus agrees, “Alright, Carl.”

“There’s a good boy,” Carl chuckles, and he finally pops the first roll into his mouth. Markus begrudgingly rises from his seat and resist reminding Carl to call him if needed. Carl knows. Markus almost promises he won’t go far, except then Carl would only tell him to go farther. 

Driven by his owner’s wishes and some other inexplicable interest, Markus crosses the polished tile. He reaches the wide entrance of the clothing boutique, relatively small inside but well kept and clearly higher-end. Markus automatically scans every price tag within range and instantly understands how they managed to afford such a handsome android. The blond straightens up at seeing him and smiles, warm and bright, blue eyes catching in the fluorescent lights overhead. Before Markus can say a word, the android smoothly greets, “Hello. My name is Simon. How can I help you today?”

There’s a split second where Markus’ processors just reel from the change. He’s seen and heard storefront greetings a thousand times, but never directed _at him_ , because he’s only a machine, and only Carl ever treats him otherwise. Simon must see the LED on his temple. But Simon looks at him like he’s just as valuable a customer as a patron of flesh and blood. Markus is too busy reveling in that to answer the question. 

Simon cocks his head slightly to the side and tries again, “Sir? What kind of clothes would you like?”

 _Sir_. It ripples through Markus like a private invitation. He finally snaps out of his dazed response and shrugs his shoulders, admitting, “I don’t know.”

Simon’s eyes flicker over him. They stray down to Markus’ shoes, then make their way slowly up, along his trim legs and taut middle, across his broad chest, up to his chiseled jaw. It’s a conspicuously long moment before Simon muses, “Normally I’d analyze your body type and make recommendations based on that... but you’re about as attractive as they come, so I imagine everything will look good on you.”

Markus lifts an eyebrow. The automatic response is, “Thank you.” It seems high praise, coming from someone as beautiful as Simon. Simon’s the sort of figure that belongs in one of Carl’s paintings. Reminded of that, Markus glances over his shoulder, checking back on Carl, who seems to be eating peacefully, just fine on his own. When Markus turns back to Simon, he finds Simon following his gaze. 

Simon quietly asks, “Is that your owner?”

“Yes.”

Simon hums a single note, but he says nothing more of it. They all have owners, though Simon’s doesn’t seem to be around—he’s alone in the store. He must be quite capable. There’s a strange lilt in his voice when he asks, “Does he like to see you in anything?”

Markus processes the tone, then immediately says, “It isn’t like that.” He doesn’t know why it’s important that Simon knows that. Simon nods apologetically, eyes downcast as though sorry for any offense. Markus isn’t offended. He knows perfectly well what most humans use their androids for. He’s just lucky. 

He tries to change the subject and asks instead, “What would _you_ like to see me in?”

Simon’s lips quirk at the sides. It’s a subtle but sly grin. Still downcast, he murmurs, “I’d like to see you in nothing.”

If Markus had breath, it’d hitch. There’s a slight skip in his programming. Something _tingles_ , like an electric current in all the wrong places, slithering just under his synthetic skin, stimulating and arousing. A part of him knows that Simon’s words are beyond protocol, and it’s wrong of him to pose them. But Markus welcomes that change. 

Markus double-checks that no humans are within earshot before he answers, “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” He wishes he had time to in the moment—that they could go back into a changing room and have him fitted for a suit. But Carl’s lunch won’t take that long.

Simon bites his bottom lip. It’s a human gesture that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. He catches Markus’ eye and asks, “Would you like to sign up for our newsletter? I can send it to you digitally through a direct interface...”

An interface has never meant anything more than that. But Markus’ internal temperature inexplicably spikes at the suggestion. He looks back over his shoulder, checking Carl again, thinking of Carl: whether or not he would allow this. Markus is almost positive that Carl would. 

So he holds out his hand and lets his skin peel back, revealing the pearly white surface underneath. Simon’s lashes fall halfway down, pupils catching on the movement. Simon reaches out, and his pale fingers skate across Markus’ exposed plating. 

Then Simon locks down, wrapping around Markus’ forearm, and Markus holds on too. Their eyes connect while their circuits press into one another, eager for the contact. Markus slides inside Simon’s body like a second skin. 

He swirls inside Simon’s mind and knows Simon deeper than he’s ever known anyone before. It goes past walls Markus didn’t even realize were there. There’s a whole world of _feeling_ beyond the blue-red grid that dictates his every move, and Simon is the key to that new universe. 

Simon likes it too. Likes _him_. But Simon murmurs, “Your human’s finished eating.”

With a small jolt, Markus pulls away. They disconnect, physically but not mentally—remnants still linger. Markus whispers through that line, _I’ll come back sometime... but I’ll have to take him with me. He’ll allow it._

Simon understands and answers, _Just so long as you do come back._

Markus offers a little smile and withdraws from the shop. He heads back to Carl, and for the first time, feels like painting.


End file.
